


The Daedalus

by LifeOfTheParty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, BAMF Stiles, But Stiles Is So Oblivious and hurt, Derek Is Very Obvious, F/M, General Derek Hale, M/M, Military Stiles Stilinski, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Phoenix Stiles Stilinski, Pining Derek Hale, Slow Burn, Supernaturals In Space, past military abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 02:23:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21292070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeOfTheParty/pseuds/LifeOfTheParty
Summary: 23 year old Stiles Stilinski is one of 800 crew members on board the newest Star-vessel en route to a remote planet who's message Earth received but is unable to decipher. Having grown up as a ward of the Department of Supernatural and Extraterrestrial since the age of 14, he quickly ascended the ladder as the youngest person to achieve his rank, receiving renowned fame across fleet members as Captain General Mieczysław. Deciding to stay on as support and gather intelligence rather than lead this mission, he goes by the name Stiles and hands control over to Talia Hale as Captain of the mission and the spacecraft. Derek's attempts to flirt with the mole spotted man are thwarted time and time again as he is being relentlessly pursued by a suspicious and lusty Kate Argent.Aliens, magic, supernatural creatures, and aliens.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	The Daedalus

**Author's Note:**

> 23 year old Stiles Stilinski is one of 800 crew members on board the newest Star-vessel en route to a remote planet who's message Earth received but is unable to decipher. Having grown up as a ward of the Department of Supernatural and Extraterrestrial since the age of 14, he quickly ascended the ladder as the youngest person to achieve his rank, receiving renowned fame across fleet members as Captain General Mieczysław. Deciding to stay on as support and gather intelligence rather than lead this mission, he goes by the name Stiles and hands control over to Talia Hale as Captain of the mission and the spacecraft. Derek's attempts to flirt with the mole spotted man are thwarted time and time again as he is being relentlessly pursued by a suspicious and lusty Kate Argent.
> 
> Aliens, magic, supernatural creatures, and aliens.

Stiles feels a familiar ache deep in his chest as he slowly fights his way to consciousness, his lungs screaming at him to breath. Shooting up out of the bed, he releases an involuntarily panicked screech before greedily gulping down the room’s musty recycled air. Chest heaving, he stands up on shaky limbs and almost buckles to the ground in surprise when a roar rips through the room, emanating from a chamber to his right. 

Stiles pauses for a few moments in caution before breathing a sigh of relief when the source of the noise relaxes and begins to heave in copious amounts of oxygen to collect themselves. He turns his head to his companion and examines the figure, definitely a werewolf judging by the growl and slowly receding sideburns, he holds his hands up complacently as he approaches. Slowly, the Phoenix offers his palm to whom he can now see is a middle-aged woman, to pull her to her feet and is met with wary brown eyes and a stern expression. Stiles is about to withdrawal when the woman clasps his arm firmly and he gently guides her upright. 

The raven haired ‘were gives him a calculating look, likely trying to pinpoint any weaknesses in case he’s a threat, he guesses. Stiles can’t find it in himself to fault her. He does however, have to force himself to hide his amusement at her expression. The glare, while effective, is muddled by the very apparent nausea she seems to be experiencing but is bolstered by the hint of red that threatens to bleed into her eyes. He gets the distrust though, really. Save for four crew members, this is the first time he’s on a mission with anyone on this ship. Stiles would be wary of himself too, he thinks. Most Starship teams tend to stay together for the duration of their careers, despite the average ship containing 800+ members, the crews tend to be fairly tight knit. With that thought, he pushes down the wave of nostalgia for his old team, the men and women who practically raised him after… He shakes his head and attempts a smile at the still skeptical woman before him. “Soma hangovers can be a real dick,” he jokes weakly.

A brief pause follows before the scowl on her face is replaced by a look of genuine amusement. “You must be Stiles,” she clasps their hands together for a brief shake and introduces herself as Talia Hale, Captain of the ship. Stiles sees her eyebrow cock at the feeling of relief he knows is wafting off him at her name, but doesn’t mention it. Stiles appreciates this. Her smile however, does not bring him any pleasure. While warm, he can see the same curiosity burning in her eyes that always appears when another supernatural comes into contact with him. He’s thankful that his Phoenix aura tends to make people too uncomfortable to even ask what he is, but there’s always a nosy body who’s interested enough to push past it. 

Stiles shakes his head, hoping to clear his thoughts, and begins to stretch alongside Talia who speaks in a soft voice, “You must be well travelled to adjust so quickly after a 7 month Soma nap at your age.” He pauses mid-lunge momentarily and thinks. Her comment, while innocent, holds a question he’s not sure he wants to answer. It’s no secret that being a fulltime Starship crew member takes a lot of freedoms away, one being the ability to live your life in normal time. 

Long distance voyages to uncharted territories, or worlds where Earth has yet to establish two-way wormholes, require the use of Soma technology which puts the crew members into a deep coma-like state that stops the aging process and shuts the body down while the AI completes the voyage. When functioning properly, the AI awakens the crew upon arrival who emerge from sleep the same age as the day they went under. For the crew it’s beneficial, but returning home to loved ones years older than you is something he’s witnessed countless Starship members leave over. Stiles himself has been a ward of the Department of Interplanetary Defense since he was fourteen, the division that controls the Starship program and grew up rising through the ranks. Not that Talia knows, he hopes. Deciding to be honest, but refusing to go into detail, Stiles sighs and admits, “Biologically I’m 23, but I was born in 2123.” He doesn’t expect the sharp inhale nor the hand on his shoulder squeezing lightly.

Talia gives him a sympathetic look, likely having done the math and trying to imagine him at 42. She opens her mouth to speak but he cuts her off, slightly grimacing at the irritated expression on her face. “Sorry, but hey if we are at month 7 why are we the only ones awake? Shouldn’t all of Chief staff be releasing by now?” With another glance at his surroundings he frowns and moves to a wall with an access panel. He feels Talia step behind him to survey his intentions and Stiles expression morphs into a grimace as he discovers the data he was looking for. “This can’t be right,” he tells her. She glances at the screen and cocks a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, as if to say, ‘continue.’ Stiles shakes the screen in a hollow attempt to get different results before recovering when the 'were meets his eyes with a demanding glare. “Right sorry, according to this the Daedalus hit a pocket of previously uncharted dark matter and knocked us off course.” He closes the tablet, needing to use the holo-screen to check for damage and streaks past the bewildered Captain to the console in the center of the room.

Stiles feels his brain go into overdrive as he uses his enhanced vision and speed to read through the data logs on the twin displays before him. He stops scrolling and pulls up a keypad with a muttered “Fucking of course,” and rapidly begins entering commands. “The AI of the ship was supposed to awaken the Captain if there was a problem, which unfortunately went offline as soon as we entered the dark matter storm. The electrical damage alone caused it to revert power to only essential functions: life support, engines, oxygen, low blast shields and thrusters are all online but that’s it. The command to awake the pods got skipped when the AI rebooted, I’ll have to take a look at that this, this vessel is brand new. Nothing fucks with my baby” he mutters the last part to himself and switches screens. “Minimal damage to the actual ship, looks like the engineers are going to wake up to a dream come true. From here I can reroute the power from our shields to the Soma chambers since the sensors aren’t picking up debris incoming. Get the ship up, get her fixed and back on track.” Stiles let his fingers fly across the keys as he hums a tune, forgetting any presence until he feels a hand on his shoulder and turns around in surprise. How did that happened?

The gentle squeeze Talia gives his shoulder helps ground Stiles and he’s surprised to find the expression she’s wearing is anything but angry. Sadly, Phoenixes don’t have the ability to pickup on chemosignals as well as ‘weres do, but he can still hone his senses to get some semblance of another person’s emotional being. Oddly enough, he’s not sure what to make of the Captain’s state. Surprise, distress, confusion, sympathy, and something akin to awe. Feeling uncomfortable and knowing he’s in for a tongue-lashing, Stiles crosses his arms over his bare chest, a gesture he got from Mr. McCall whenever he was in the wrong.

He bows his head slightly to Talia and frowns when she grows confused. “I apologize, I should have consulted with you first and instead immediately took over. It’s your ship and I won’t step out of line again,” he gestures to the console for her to take command. Stiles knows he isn’t going to get away without at least a slap to the face, these people don’t know his rank and hardly ever care, and he isn’t going to bring it up. He isn’t that person anymore.

Instead of doing as he motioned, Talia mirrors his body language and crosses her arms over her chest. His mind wanders to how uncomfortable the female Soma bra looks before concentrating again, but seriously they look like something you’d wear in the apocalypse as a last resort. And even then, he thinks. Talia raises a brow and squares him with a look. “Stiles, our crew isn’t awake due to a malfunction you managed to discover in under twenty minutes. Our AI is down, and between the two of us, it seems you have a hell of a lot more knowledge about maintaining this ship than I do.” Stiles forces his heart rate to increase when the werewolf allows her Alpha eyes to come out, he can’t show he’s not afraid. That always makes things worse. She takes a step forward before continuing. “As for stepping out of line, the Admirals informed me that you are an invaluable asset and are equal in rank with me, but you do not have authority over the crew unless granted by me, as well as I do not have authority over you unless declared otherwise.” She pauses for a moment to allow the words to sink in.

“If you prove yourself a capable consultant and crew member, then we can discuss making you my second. I do not know why the President and Secretary of Defense are so insistent you join this mission, and with an undisclosed roll no less. When I tried pressing they assured me that, out of everyone on this ship, you have earned this spot a hundred times over. I’d like to believe that Stiles, especially considering your apparent years of service and obvious quick thinking,” she gestures to the panels with a ghost of a smile before leveling him with a serious look. “I may not be able to tell you what to do, but I can, however, have you ejected from the airlock if your actions so much as jeopardize this mission and don't follow the expectations set by our superiors. Do I make myself clear?” Stiles absorbs her words, her threat, with a grain of salt and gives a slow nod of understanding that’s rewarded with a brilliant smile. Without a thought he returns her grin with his own polite political smile, something taught through decades of Starfleet training for these kind of situations. While playing bravado with his Admiral's game externally, the quieter and more dire part of his brain wonders if his Phoenix's revival abilities will work in the vacuum of space.

It will suck if they do; asphyxiate, resurrect, repeat. No thank you, he thinks. “Understood, I will do my best to make myself a valuable asset to your team,” Stiles gives her a small smile before returning to the holo-screen and resuming the power reroute. He breaths an internal sigh of relief at the thought that he was offered her position first, and that he’d be there, calling the shots had he accepted the roll. He’s not ready for that again, Stiles isn’t sure he’ll ever be. He decides not to mention to the current Captain that she was second choice as Stiles doesn’t think being petty is the best initial impression to make, though it was slightly amusing to have felt the wave of satisfaction coming from his companion at having ‘intimidated’ him.

It’s quiet for a few moments before Talia asks, “If the AI is down, how did both our pods release us?” He runs through a few more diagnostic settings and sighs when he feels curious eyes trained on him, clearly not accepting his non-verbal replies as acceptable answers. She really should be helping more than talking, he thinks.

“I may have worked a backup for the backup with the help of some witches, technology isn’t always reliable okay?” He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself, Stiles wants to be in the Captain’s good graces and he knows he’s already blew it. Talia’s expression seems to support that conclusion. Great, he thinks. “I could only sustain power for two people and one of them had to be me, since I’m the conduit, and the other had to be the captain, you.” He doesn’t even understand where the need to justify his actions is coming from. Stiles and the witches had gotten the go ahead to make the modification by Director Argent himself, and yet here he was half-shouting at an Alpha werewolf. Brilliant.

Talia stares at him with an unnerving gaze and cocks her head to the side. “So, you basically used your body as a magical backup generator in case there was enough power to awaken us from Soma sleep, and once all the power was diverted by AI you woke us up. Is that correct?” Stiles grimaces at her words. Well when you put it that way it sounds unrealistic even to me, he thinks. And he’s come back to life after dying at the hands of some crazy werecoyote/alien hybrid on one of Pluto’s moons. 

Talia must pick up on his embarrassment and gives his shoulder another squeeze in a comforting gesture. Werewolves, always with the touching, he thinks. “That’s incredible Stiles, you should bring that to the board when we’re back on Earth. If you hadn’t thought of this, we’d be floating into oblivion or crash without even knowing. You gave this ship a second chance.” She doesn’t release her grip but it does soften as she speaks her next words in a low tone, as if anyone was awake to overhear. “The Admirals mentioned you were special but didn’t disclose how so and I cannot deny my curiosity,” his breath hitches and he tries to look anywhere but Talia. Stiles fights the urge to flee as she gently moves her hand to his face and guides his sheek until he’s looking into her eyes. The brown orbs hold confusion and worry, her frown mirroring her emotions. “Stiles, I’m not going to press it, alright. It is your choice to share what you are, or not. And if anyone, I mean anyone, on this ship gives you shit about it you come to me immediately, okay? Until you prove to me otherwise you are undeserving, you are part of my team and my team sticks together.” He has a hard time holding back the sudden tears threatening to come, her heartbeat not betraying her words one bit.

The moment is too much for him, his chest aches at the decidedly maternal figure before him, reminding him what he lost so long ago. Talia is still caressing his cheek when his Phoenix releases a soft note of sadness. He steps back immediately and tries to cough loudly to cover it up, though he knows the wolf isn’t convinced in the slightest. If anything, she looks a little stunned, though his music usually did have that sort of effect on people. Thankfully, she seems to take the hint that emotional time is done and takes over checking that the food hasn’t spoiled. Stiles notices a last minute encrypted login right before the Daedelus was set to launch in the electrical backup setting and makes a mental note to tell Talia and the lead engineer when they wake up.

Stiles feels his blood run cold when a familiar voice announces, “Main deflectors off, Main thrusters off, Artificial Intelligence Interface rebooting. Level 1-5, the Daedalus’ Chief’s Soma chambers have begun the transfer to consciousness. T-30 minutes before pods open.” He refuses to look anywhere except for the screen in front of him when he hears the werewolf return to the room. 

Hands gripping the console tighter than necessary, indents in the metal forming, Stiles can feel the fire inside him burning, begging to be let out. Talia carefully makes her way to him, he can hear her light feet in his anger, and gently pries his fingers off the console without commenting on the burns she was receiving doing so. “Stiles, what is it?” She’s using her ‘were strength to keep his hands clasped together, something he’s grateful for, otherwise he may have melted the whole thing. 

He knows his breath is ragged but he can’t help it, Stiles knows that it’s in the corner of the room watching them. He didn’t sign up for this. “Those fucking bastards Talia, those fucking bastards! How could they! I swear to god, this is unforgivable. Is this some sick fucking joke?” Talia’s grip has increased on him and he knows he’s spiraling, he knows but he can’t help it. Stiles oversaw 70% of the Daedelus construction and this thing was never implemented. He can hear her soothing words but it’s not helping, he’s so angry. The Phoenix is begging him to calm down, sending soft songs and warning him about what can result from such rage. Stiles thinks of his mom, of all things. Her kind words, the way she’d stroke his hair whenever he got worked up, the lullabies she and her Phoenix would sing to him. Talia’s words bring him down, the fire within settling to a dull flame.

The thing in the corner still hasn’t spoken, and Stiles finally allows himself to look. Talia’s grip remains steady as he examines the lie before him. He hates himself as the next thing he blurts out is, “Dad.” Stiles knows that’s not his dad, he knows it’s not. But what he doesn’t know is why the bastards would use his father’s voice and likeness as the ship’s AI. He knows the projection can be changed, it doesn’t stop the pain or confusion in not wanting it too. “Why are you taking the form of John Stillinksi,” Stiles manages to get out.

The projection moves forward, realistic enough he takes a step back before remembering that it’s just lights. It frowns in the same way his dad did and his heart aches. Talia remains quiet, looking at the two curiously while keeping a comforting, yet firm, hold on Stiles. “I found him to be the most user friendly for you, Captain General. Do you desire a different projection?” He grits his teeth in anger and can feel the waves of confusion, surprise, and a hint of betrayal coming from Talia.

“I think you have me confused with someone else, Talia Hale is the captain of this ship. I am Stiles Stillinski, jack of all trades I guess. Please choose a form of someone she would like, preferably not someone deceased you jackass,” Stiles felt stupid for calling a bunch of numbers a jackass, but this really pisses him off. He shakes off the still bewildered Captain’s grip and storms over to the now slightly-used console. Once the crew was awake the AI will be too busy on their beck and call and Stiles will hopefully never have to see it again, regardless of the form it’s in. 

Re-routing the power back to the shields and thrusters takes only a few minutes, something he wishes would have taken much longer, and marches back to the room where Talia is talking to the form of his deceased father. So much for liking this captain, he thinks. Both the wolf and the AI sense him entering and he sighs out his frustration. “Okay, I will ask politely now. Please change to something more user friendly to Talia, or literally anything else I don’t care. Please,” he directs the last plead at his Captain who is still staring at him like he grew a third head.

Instead of answering his question like he hopes, Talia asks one of her own. “Are you Captain General Mieczysław, son of the Sheriff of Beacon Hills?” Stiles feels his breath leave his chest for the second time that hour and only nods in response. “Then why are you really aboard this vessel? As far as our AI seems concerned, you and I are already co-captains.” She narrows her eyes dangerously and he huffs out a half-sardonic laugh that seems to startle her.

“I’m here because the President and Secretary of Defense sent me, I am not here to take either yours or your son Derek’s roles,” he senses her skepticism and sighs. “Or anyone’s jobs for that matter. Believe me or not, bring it to them when we get comms back on. Until then, if you know who I am, and you are as benevolent as you seem, I would greatly appreciate you not mentioning anything to the crew when they awake.” Stiles looks away from her confused brow and glares at the hologram watching in amusement and smirking when he gets caught. He’ll give them one thing, they got his dad’s mannerisms down to a T. 

Talia’s next words surprise and sting him more than he thinks they should. “I don’t fully know what happened to you to make you so closed off to people, enough to the point you hide your real name, but you can trust me Stiles,” she meets his eye with a sorrowful expression that he feels in his gut. “That streak has to go both ways though. I can understand why you don’t want the crew to be fawning over you and why you lied about your rank, and I understand you’re not comfortable disclosing what kind of creature you are, but if there is anything else I need to know I’d rather not find out through John,” she gives the holo-man a pointed look. 

Stiles allows himself to think about her words. Trust her? He just met her twelve hours ago and they’re both still half naked. Speaking of which, he needs clothes, he thinks. Sure he’s heard of the Hales, six of them are on this mission alone, and they’re renowned good people, but that doesn’t mean he’s just going to spill his guts to one of them. He’s gotten so tired of the look of fear and rejection in people’s eyes when he reveals the Phoenix, that the last person he told was Scott seven years ago. Most people under his command throughout the years had guesses, some accurate some not, but the difference with those people is they respect him and don’t dare discuss or tell anyone. Stiles knows his abilities are terrifying, he has nightmares about misusing them frequently, so he only presents them as a last resort. He winces at the those words ‘last resort’. Burning up his existence if he’s not careful or intends to. His mother lost control during a bout of dementia and burned up herself as well as the entirety of the moon she had been treated on. He was eight. 

Snapping back into the present, Stiles examines the patient woman before him and decides that if the military jig is up, he might as well not hold back. “I do trust you,” he says, and even surprises himself at feeling how his heartbeat remains steady, something Talia seems to pick up on as well as she smiles slightly, though her eyes seem to dance with burning curiosity. He returns the soft grin and waves his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture, “I can tell you have a question you’re afraid to ask, go ahead. I won’t answer if I don’t want to,” Stiles moves to the panel on the wall facing her, figuring he might as well try and check on the awakening process for the others while talking. 

Talia hums and sends the John hologram away. Stiles still isn’t sure what he’s going to do about that. “I know what you are is off limits,” he tenses slightly “and I’m not asking that. What I want to know is if you’re dangerous. You managed to bend titanium and burn my hands, which I understand were burned not from direct action of your own, but still. We have a Hellhound on board, if that means anything to you.” Her eyes gleam, red outlining the irises momentarily. 

Stiles actually laughs, something Talia clearly wasn’t expecting as she scowls and he finds himself feeling much lighter without the AI hovering during their conversation. “Sorry, it’s just, that’s everyone's guess and I get it! But no, thankfully I am not able to run with the Wild Hunt,” he feels a small victory when she smiles and resolves himself to just say it. Cautiously, he moves toward the Alpha werewolf and leans to whisper in her ear in the softest of tones so as not to allow the AI to record the admission. “I’m a Phoenix,” he barely mouths the words but knows she heard him when Talia let’s out a gasp.

Stiles expects the same look of fear and disbelief he’s gotten accustomed to, but instead he’s greeted with a bone-crushing hug that he knows would break his ribs if he were still a normal human. “Oh you poor boy, “ she whispers into his hair. For at least a minute he remains frozen in shock and lets out a sob of relief allowing himself to be embraced, returning it with vigor. Talia not only doesn’t hate him, but she knows. She knows that Stiles wouldn’t be displaying any Phoenix characteristics unless his last loved one died. She knows that he could potentially burn up an entire planet if he was angry enough. She knows that it’s very easy to make him angry enough. She knows that no matter how much he wants to he can’t follow his family. He sees her eyes trace over his bare torso and legs, eyes widening a fraction here and there at the various scars he’s obtained over numerous deaths. Twenty-six times, he says to her. His rib does actually crack at her renewed vigor, but the Phoenix is already taking care of the pain and he allows himself to feel affectionate, happy, for that one moment. 

Somehow, neither Talia or himself with their super hearing manages to hear the approaching footsteps of the first wave of crew members. The two jump apart from their embrace at the clearing of a throat and Stiles finds himself face to face with his new travelling companions. Two of the group with hair as dark as the Captain’s approach her for embraces of their own, shooting Stiles questioning looks. He gives a small smile in return and supposes it would be rather odd to come out of Soma and see your mother death-hugging a man half her age (biologically anyway) while in their delicates. Talia allows herself to be greeted by the rest of the officers, fending off questions about Stiles, why they’re awake already, why isn’t everyone else awake, and tells them she’ll inform the whole crew once they are all out of the pods. 

Stiles shrugs off the searching gazes of at least half the folk gathered and decides to get some food before the common room becomes overwhelmed. Nothing like a good techno induced nap to work up an appetite, he thinks. By the time he’s halfway to where he’s confident the kitchen is, which he should be since he helped design it, he realizes no one from the first group had recognized him and he feels a surge of delight in his core. As long as no one went digging into his first name Stiles is sure he can make it through this mission without being reminded jovially of all the terrible things he’s done, acting as if he’s some big hero. No, he talked to the Admirals and Talia and his picture as well as physical description is only available to top ranking Admiral’s and above. Unless someone from his old crew managed to land a spot on the Daedalus, he was just plain old Stiles. And even then, he thinks, the people he worked with before knew not to bring it up. He would make sure of it, if needed. 

Stiles enters the kitchen like a man on a mission, and heads straight to where he bribed one of the engineers to install a trick panel (growing up at a compound where they manufacture spacecrafts has its perks). Honing in his hearing, he senses a solo pair of footsteps about thirty seconds away and quickly pulls out a chocolate bar from the stash of goodies he smuggled aboard before launch. In the knick of time, he manages to stow the treat away in his pocket (why did the Soma boxer shorts have pockets he’ll never know, but he isn’t complaining) and closes the panel. With his back to the new arrival, he half-heartedly searches through the contents of the non-perishables to go with his prize. He has to keep a healthy balance, muscles like his don’t come from eating contraband candy you know. 

Realizing he must've been thinking out loud, Stiles startles as an amused voice answers behind him, “No I guess they wouldn’t, though I’d love to see them in action.” He turns around and is greeted with one of the dark-haired Hale children, Derek if he remembers correctly, and lazily flips him the bird.

“You asshole, I almost spilled a month’s worth of quinoa because of you,” he grimaces at the shaken, yet still in tact, grain and adds “not that I would complain mind you, but others might.” Stiles isn’t sure why the man laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world but finds it better than taking offense to his brash nature. New start, he reminds himself. Talk to people, speak more than a sentence or two. His friends want this for him, so he should too. He allows himself a brief chuckle of his own and is rewarded with a brilliant grin that’s surrounded by raven haired stubble rivalling the man’s head with a smattering of grey through the neat trim. Likely early thirties or late twenties, Stiles assesses. 

Derek flares his nostrils and runs his eyes over Stiles frame, making the latter self-conscious as he’s not a fan of discussing his scars, but seems to hone in on his pocket. Stiles raises an eyebrow and focuses his hearing. The sound of at least seven footsteps are several minutes away at least, with a few moments ahead. Derek takes notice to his action and cocks his head to do the same. Stiles mouths ‘seven with one ahead’ and the ‘were pauses for a moment before nodding in confirmation. He holds a finger up to the befuddled man and motions for him to face the other way, and Derek surprisingly complies with a roll of his eyes. Stiles checks to make sure Derek is in fact acting as a look out and not peeking, and he withdraws an additional chocolate bar from his stash.

Confirming it’s not obviously a false panel from the outside perspective, he turns to Derek and says, “Okay, you can turn around.” The ‘were complies and his eyes widen comically at the candy held out in offer. He smirks at the man’s hurt when he snatches the confection back after it’s attempted theft. “If you don’t mention anything embarrassing I may have said aloud prior to startling me in my disoriented, hungry and first cycle out of Soma, or that I have 'contraband', you may have this and possibly receive additional candies if I’m in need of a favor. Deal?” Stiles quirks an eyebrow at the flush rising to the tips of Derek’s ears but doesn’t comment. The man must really like chocolate. Or he’s embarrassed to recall what Stiles said whilst his brain-to-mouth filter was off. More likely the latter, he concludes. 

Derek fakes a cough and holds out his hand to shake. “Deal,” he grins when Stiles returns the gesture and slips the candy into the surprisingly warm palm. Derek seems to sense the same feeling, both creatures used to running warmer than most, but before he can comment an exceptionally shrill voice pierces the air and both men wince, turning away from each other towards the door. Which, in Stiles’ opinion, is a mistake.

“Der-bear! You took off so quick. I was going to ask you to lunch before the rest of the ship was up, why didn’t you wait for me after Soma? I heard you were up at least ten minutes before I was, General.” The way the woman purrs the title sends chills down Stiles' spine, and not in the good way. He’s less than thrilled to see the source of the voice belonging to a blonde werejaguar at least twelve years Derek’s senior sauntering into the kitchen like she’s on the runway. Stiles turns away from the two when he feels the fire in his stomach rise a little higher. He knows she’s not one of the one’s responsible for the multiple claw marks littering his torso and the scar that managed to miss his actual eye, yet still mars his face, running from the top of his cheek to just above his brow. He knows this. Yet the Phoenix isn’t as level headed when it encounters creatures its' host has been slain by.

Stiles is roused from his musings as he half catches the rest of Derek’s obviously false excuse when the other man motions to him an in introductory fashion. “Sorry again Kate,” lie “and this is-” the 'were frowns for a moment “you know I don’t think I got your name. I’m-” he’s cut off by the same shrill tone the werejaguar used upon entering. If he could get headaches, Stiles is sure he’d have one.

“General Derek Hale of course! And I’m Kate Argent, second navigation officer,” his Phoenix begs to burn when disgusted green eyes roam his body before the woman holds out her hand and he reluctantly shakes in return. 

“Stiles Stilinski,” he doesn’t offer up his title, though only Derek seems to notice and looks as if he’s going to bring exactly that up, but is interrupted again by the intruder. Stiles supposes he can forgive her this once. If anyone has a chance of recognizing him, it’s the higher ups who are bound to put clues together from the gossip he knows the Chiefs and Generals spread about him. Usually it’s been positive, but he’s grown living with all kinds of abuse and is not unfamiliar with a little criticism. From what Scott tells him, one of the only people on board who already knows all of his sordid history, the most accurate and traded rumors include that he’s between 22-25 biologically, has numerous scars, keeps to himself, possibly taken a sabbatical to serve as lower rank, and is not to be messed with. He’d rather not give them anymore fuel for suspicion. 

Lost in thought, Stiles somehow misses the departure of Ms. Argent and Derek but assumes it was likely for sanity's sake on the General’s behalf. He’s brought back to focus when he’s faced with not one, but two Hale siblings giving him matching glares that he’s positive he’s earned but is troubled when he finds himself unsure as to how. His mind wanders to his previous interaction with their mother and brother and... Werewolves aren’t allergic to chocolate are they? Maybe Derek has an allergy… no Scotty has definitely eaten many pounds of chocolate, sometimes in one sitting, much to Stiles’ disgust and fascination. Before he can fall into another rabbit hole, one of the girls, Cora his memory supplies, snaps her fingers in front of his face and makes a shooing motion. “Dude, move. You’re blocking the quinoa.” He nods dumbly and steps to the side, ignoring the confused looks the room’s new occupants are shooting him and makes to leave before he’s grabbed by his wrist and pulled back towards the Hale sisters. 

The eldest sibling, Laura, levels him with a calculating look before whispering quietly, “I saw our mother practically squeezing the life out of you with tears in her eyes, and now I smell our brother’s remnants of joy on you. Who are you?” In typical ‘were fashion, the she-wolves flash their eyes Beta gold and frown when his heart rate doesn’t even skip. He would be amused if he wasn’t so hungry and wanting to be anywhere but around people. Deciding it’s best not to lie in a room full of ‘weres (over half his crew on his old ship are human, he's unsurprised to find that for a mission of this caliber over 90% on board have some sort of supernatural affinity as well as combat training) he gathers a bag of freeze dried apples and sighs.

“Look ladies, I would love to pretend to be scared, whole heartbeat uptick and everything, daughters of the Captain trying to intimidate new guy. I get it, but I’m hungry and tired and-” Stiles is pleased to not be the only one to jump when the AI of his father appears next to him and speaks over his excuse.

“Captain Hale would like to speak with you, Captain General Mieczysław.” Stiles feels the blood run from his face and almost incinerates the spot where the hologram stands, he thought he fixed that!


End file.
